


A Roundtrip to Vologda

by lumenLupus



Category: NieR: Automata (Video Game)
Genre: Drug Use, F/M, Modern/Cyberpunk AU, Moscow AU, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-01-26 19:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21379510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumenLupus/pseuds/lumenLupus
Summary: It's March 2117. Moscow is sitting quiet, the streets shimmering faintly with the first coating of moonfall satellites. They rattle themselves down out of the sky, burning up into silver and dust. In the low autumn fog the wires creak and bend, crackling with static, data and frost.21O looks over at the salvaged shell. Empty, lifeless; 9S seeps into it bit by bit.
Relationships: 2B/9S (NieR: Automata)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I haven't written any fanfic for several years, but I finished Nier:Automata's last ending (like 2 years too late) and now the characters are bouncing around in my head. I don't think I get the world across too well in the first chapter, it's very understated and I will probably come back to it if I can't fit everything neatly into the next one. Still, I'm really excited to write this AU and explore the more of the world in it.  
I would really appreciate any criticism and thanks for taking the time to read this, also apologies in advance for my terrible russian

9S booted slowly, the lines of code ran languidly as sight and sensation slowly flooded back into weary processors. The dull white-painted concrete of the ceiling was the first thing to meet his sight. 21O sat at her computer, perched upon her chair at the end of the bed. She cut an odd sight against the unfurnished room; dark brown suit jacket with matching trousers, glasses slipped down to the end of her nose.

“Your boot time is double the average for your CPU. Do I need to run diagnostics again?” She asked, tone measured and calm. All the while her eyes burned a hole in 9S, barely disguising her raw nerves and concern.

“I'm up, I'm up.” 9S groaned

“One affirmation will suffice.” A relieved sigh.

9S merely grunted in response.

“We've got a client. You won't be meeting with him, just some representatives. It's a simple delivery job.”

9S climbed out of the bed, legs hitting the floor earlier than expected.

“I'm in a different shell?”

“Not much time to explain that. Same core functions, I had to make do with what we have to hand.” 21O responded. "We'll talk about it after the job's done."

“A few inches taller, I can't complain.”

21O shifted her laptop onto the end of the bed.

“The package is the backpack on the kitchen table. I'll forward you the drop-off once you're on the street. There's bribe money in the left side-pocket if you get stopped.”

9S nodded. Before his wits even had the chance to come around the Moscow street was upon him, slow rain hammered down on everything, coating the whole world in an oily film. The bus was packed to the gills, people scrabbling on to escape from the acrid smelling rain. Much to his chagrin 9S discovered that the Russian language pack had not made the transfer to his new shell. There was no secure connection, all his trusted VPNs absent, left in the last shell. 9S cursed and struggled to recall IPs, PGP keys; anything at all that might of snuck in with him.

An old man spits at him. 9S stops and stares down at the old man.

«упырь.» He muttered, walking past. It was the grey hair that gave it away. The Russian language pack didn't parse it for him, but the meaning was clear. 9S scurried off down the street as fast as his legs would carry him.

“You forgot your hat I'm guessing.” 21O chimed over the infranet channel.

“Yup, no language pack either.” 9S sent back, remote and without verbalisation.

“You're lucky there's another android waiting for you.” 21O paused. “It's my fault though. We were really pushed for time. Sorry 9S.”

9S didn't send anything back, cutting the connection. By the time he got to the drop-off point his nerves were frayed and every small glance set him off. The exterior of the building was unassuming enough, a small kiosk with a backdoor down the alley on the lefthand side. Just as the instructions directed. 9S weaved his way past the line of cigarette-buyers and gopniks waiting at the bulletproof kiosk glass.  
His contact was not at all what he expected. She stood tall, taller than his old shell by a couple of inches, but equal with his new eyes. Distinctive silver-white hair cropped around her neck, impassive grey eyes watched the whole street from the alley. He wasn't sure, perhaps just a trick of the light, but she looked to be carrying guns in her dark-green combat trousers. Small side-arms, given away just slightly by the distinctive shape.

«Привет.» She greets him. «иди сюда.»

9S froze up. The context was easy enough to guess once she pointed to the stairs behind her. Still, he blustered and panicked, opening private comms.

“Language pack is damaged.” He sent as he stepped over the threshold.

The line remained silent for a beat as the two of them descended down the steps to the basement.

“You're in an import model then. Default language is English.” The android replied. 9S tensed, expecting a needle-round to burst through his skull at any moment.

“Salvage. My OS is English default. Last shell had the pack, but couldn't get all the data across in time.”

A single binary 1 is sent back over the line. Acknowledgement, acceptance, unable to be translated into perfect human context. 9S stumbled into the darkness at the end of the stairwell with a low exhale, tension still clinging to his shoulders. The new shell had none of the fancy brightness, contrast or infrared settings the old one did. Height be damned, salvage was never worth it.  
The door revealed itself through the slit of light peeping under it, 9S fumbled for the handle briefly before entering. The room that greeted him was barren, the cold light of a single, florescent strip bulb lit the entire room, flickering every now and then. A steel table and set of chairs sat dead centre, another woman already occupied the seat opposite the door. She sat huddled in a leather jacket, fur lining poking out the sleeves and collar.  
The android and her exchanged a few words in Russian. The woman turned back to him.

“Come! Sit down!” She insisted. Her tone rang oddly cheery for a drop off. “Call me 6O.”

9S squinted. She had none of the distinctive traits, her hair was a wheat blonde instead of the dull silver. 'It might be a joke-' He thought to himself 'an odd human notion of surreal humour.'

“This one is 2B.” She gestured to the android stood next to her. “I'm guessing she didn't introduce herself.”

9S nodded. “Right, uh, I'm 9S. Pleasure to meet you.”

“A scanner model, very fancy. Anyway, no need for formalities, let's take a look at what you've brought us!”

9S slipped the backpack off his shoulders, stuffing the bribe money up his sleeve as he did so. 'No sense letting them have more than they paid for, after all.'  
6O moved to inspect the contents as soon as the bag was on the table. A block of C4 emerged from the top, dropped unceremoniously onto the steel. Then another. Then another.

'Shit. And to think I'd nearly taken it on a bus!” 9S thought to himself.

“Well, it's all here! So neatly made too.” 6O chirped. “Tell your handler I'm impressed 9S. I'll wire through the funds now.”

“Thanks.” 9S nods. “I'll just confirm the transf-.”

As soon as he'd extended his legs from the chair 2B's vice grip came down on his shoulder.

“Sit down.” She commanded.

9S slowly retreated back to the chair. Her strength was surprising, unnerving even. He ran through the possibilities and percentiles of what model her shell was. Combat? Attacker? Worse still, a custom rig? He cut off the line of thought, planning escape vectors and frantically calculating the top speed of his new shell.

“Quite right. We've still got business to discuss!” 6O remarked, the cheer in her tone eerier by the second. “Do you smoke 9S? Here.”

9S considered refusing.  
The consideration was dashed as 2B's vice grip tightened around his shoulder.

“R-right, uh, thanks.” He took one from the pack dutifully.

It was ridiculous for an android to smoke, a misguided attempt at emulating humanity, nothing more than performance. The tar didn't agree with internal circuitry, nor did androids gain the benefit of nicotine.

'Ultimately though, it would do little harm compared to the effects on humans.' 9S thought.

2B's vice grip on his shoulder became slack, her hand slipping back to her side. She seated herself between 6O and 9S with all the considered grace of a steel suspension spring.  
Smoking did not suit her, 9S noted. 6O perhaps, a surreal juxtaposition to the woman's oddly friendly temperament that seemed to parody itself. 9S inhaled, edges of the mouth curled into involuntary scowl as the harsh taste of the Drina rolled down his tongue.

“So, 2B tells me you don't speak Russian.”

“No. I haven't got the language pack.” 9S replied, shoulders tensing.

“Unusual. New rig?”

“Last one got fried. Barely had time to change over before I was due here.”

“Fried.” 6O raised one of her eyebrows. “Messing with other people's databases before you got here huh?”

“Nothing like that.” 9S struggled to keep his voice level. “It was overclocking.”

Overclocking. A white lie, barely even untrue.  
6O sat back in her chair.

“Fiiiine. I won't press you on it.” She acquiesced, an unreadable smile working its way onto her face. “I've got another job for you. Your speciality, Mister Scanner.”

9S relaxed his shoulders a bit.

“Alright. Remote or On Location?”

“Aren't you on the ball today?" She laughed "Especially for someone who just fried themselves. On Location. 2B here will be accompanying you.”

9S felt the tension suddenly come rushing back. He glanced at 2B, trying to get a read, anything out of her impassive expression. The idea of having a partner that could kill him quick as look at him was hardly something he relished.  
2B was a stone wall, stare lancing through him, indifferent gaze sliding over the room as the smoke curled up past her lips.

“To ensure the job gets done on your terms huh?” 9S voice came out thin and strained, like forcing concrete through cheesecloth.

6O stubbed out her cigarette on the table, uncomfortably close to the pile of C4 just scant inches away from it.

“We'll take care of the details with your handler, so don't worry about all that!” 6O's smile was plastered over her face in seconds. “Relax, you're free to go!”

9S stood cautiously, waiting to catch 2B in his peripherals. She remained relaxed in her chair, still smoking as if she were sitting in a bar instead of a basement.  
  
"пока́." 2B's voice, a low amused tone, echoed out behind 9S as he turned to leave.  
  
A curt “thank you” later and he was outside the kiosk, waiting in line with all the others. Quietly, he opened a private line to 21O.

> **Did we get the transfer?**

**>** _ All accounted for. You didn't think to ask before you left? _

> **You would'a told me otherwise.**

>_ Unprofessional of you 9S. That aside I took the liberty of listening in._

> **They send you anything about this new job then?**

> _Not yet. If they hadn't had a B model standing next to you I would have told you to turn it down._

> **Security jobs are good money though. Potential death by B model aside.  
**

> _Hardly the point._

9S realised that he was first in queue, attention had been lost to the datastream. He pointed at a cartridge of Krasni. Then, on some odd whim, a packet of Drina.

>_ We can't risk frying another shell. Remember London two years ago?_

9S shoved a 1000 rouble note into the kiosk's exchange drawer. The old man on the other side pulled it through, stuffing the note into his pocket, before roughly shoving the Krasni and Drina back through to the other side. 9S tucked them into the inside pocket and started off towards the bus station.

> _Besides, I'm not there with you so there'll be no server transfers or backups._

> _What I'm saying is, be careful, alright?_

> **I will. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got massively caught up with my job and other obligations, but the second chapter is finally done! It's definitely turned out far slower paced storywise than I'd planned, but at the same time I like how the imagery has turned out. Chapter 3 is already half-written as I ended up cutting out 2B's section of this one, hopefully it'll be a bit more plot-heavy.  
Thanks to all the people who've left me kudos and comments by the way, I really appreciate it!

9S stood in-front of the bathroom mirror, memories slowly sifting down through processors and recollection protocols. His face didn't fit him, alien and strange as it stared back at him. A hairline crack ran down the left side of the jaw, barely visible until his mouth opened. 9S had grown accustomed to the soft features of his old shell. Sure, parts of him had been exchanged before, slowly replacing the majority of him over the years. He'd never lost himself entirely.  
This new shell looked older, face similar enough, carbon-fibre filed down by 21O in a rough approximation of something familiar. It was rougher, jawline harsh and sharp, cheeks thin, eyes sunken a little further back.

'It was the best she could have done.'

Still, the thought stung. All the preparation, all the careful untangling of code and encryption; all of it up in smoke, hindsight mocking him at every turn.

Back in London, where they'd had an actual bath and his shell was sophisticated bio-silicone, he'd held a temporary hope for him and 21O to finally escape. Meaning beyond survival, beyond running the same rat-trap jobs for faceless contacts and fixers.

“What's the point of it all?” He'd asked 21O as she soldered in new RAM and CPUs in place of the charred remains.

“We're alive. Alive and as free as androids can get.” She'd told him. “That's all you need.”

He plugged the Krasni cartridge in through a cable. 21O would be out for a few hours. The effect was almost immediate, processing power surging through his system. Clarity flooded him, bringing the room into sharp focus. Dust particles became apparent, even able to plot every single path and trajectory. Shadows revealed angles, objects mapped even when obscured from sight, inferred through degrees and the space occupied by absence.  
It was a state no human could comprehend. Privately, 9S considered the idea that most androids failed to appreciate it too, with their utilitarian stares and cold survival.

'Probably use it to run diagnostics faster.' He scoffed

He dragged himself away from the mirror and into the only other room in the apartment. It was unfurnished, save for boxes upon boxes of android parts and various electronics shoved against the wall next to the bathroom door. The kitchen, consisting of a sole gas cooker and sink, went largely unused. 21O occasionally drank black tea with sugar.  
The bed sat on the opposite wall, plain white sheets, small spots of black oil dotting the edges. 21O's metal folding-chair rested, folded up, against the end of the bed.

Underneath the bed 9S kept some of his own possessions. Small trinkets, inconsequential things that fit into a single duffel bag. Photographs; strangers who looked interesting, 21O, Himself. Everything and anything that could be catalogued, was. A small analogue camera, relic of over 100 years ago. The lettering had long since worn down, shutter-speed and ISO/ASA only visible through the indents their numbers were painted into. A small wooden idol from England, a gift from a newly anointed Druid during the short-lived Sasana Reclamation.

9S put them out of his thoughts, snatching up his coat from the end of the bed. It was too small now, sleeves cutting off before the wrists, awkward and ill-fitting. There was no door to the balcony, merely large windows that enabled one to step over onto it. A pair of old chairs, that 9S had found on the street, looked out over the endless sprawl of the city.

9S sat down. The stars were all gone now, only the red and yellow flashing lights of satellites filled the sky. If he extended internal connections out far enough, or connected to directory listings, he could name each and every one of them. Some he remembered off by heart; Antares, taking the place of the old star, the biggest supplier of solar energy and surfacenet. Lugo, now defunct with the lights still on, hanging over England like a guillotine. Laika and Gagarin, staring out into the vast black sea that lay beyond Earth, the only two left in the sky that looked outwards.

On rare nights, after long blackouts, when the smog and heat haze settled down into the earth, some of the stars blinked and opened their stinging eyes again.

The cartridge of Krasni began to warm up in 9S' hand as the volts ran through the solder, coating them in a shiny film. Above, the arcs and curves of predicted satellite orbit paths unfurled over the sight of the sky, spider-web of interconnected self-correcting lines.

9S pulled the packet of Drina from his breast pocket. Smoke rose up, thin wisps pouring out of his lips and the hairline crack in his jaw.

The moonfall started, blinking dots growing red and furious on the purple canvas sky. Winding down, scattering into the dusk, the burnt out eyes of humanity decayed their orbits and started their descent. Slowly at first, sauntering down towards the pale blue dot. 9S had seen the earth from an eye of a satellite once, spinning lonesome against the black void. Behind it the black ashes of Mars glistened in the sun, asteroid miner's ships like fireflies in the distance.

Thousands of lines fell quicker and quicker, red then blue, finally running out into white hot splinters that flecked off like dry acrylic paint.

The cartridge seared hot into the seat next to 9S, finally burning out in a shower of sparks. All at once the shock set in, racking through visual processes and logic circuits until 9S ripped the cable out. Still shuddering, he tossed the cartridge and end of the cigarette over the edge of the balcony and stumbled back inside.

The bed greeted him like a brick, utilitarian and brutalist. The white-painted concrete ceiling loomed above his eyes again, the walls crushing down, compressing inwards into the darkness.

He felt sick, wretched. Burnt out, weary little matchstick head slipping into blood-black nothingness.

* * *

21O was a logical being, a creature of reason. If things were in order she was 'happy' and vice versa, yet it felt illogical to know it. 'An android is not a creature driven by emotion.' Most androids believed it was their singular split from humanity's yoke. Humans are emotional creatures, spiritual and possessed by urges. An android feels, but should not. 21O did not like to think on this long. What does one do when presented with a world that flies in the face of all one's presuppositions?

In a sense, even to be a 'woman' was wrong; androids possess neither genitalia, chromosomes nor purpose for differentiating themselves, but act and identify regardless. Yet, 21O was treated like a woman by those around her, a thoroughly disquieting experience when dealing with human men. Decidedly, she felt as a woman, for all intents and purposes _ was _ a woman in both her own and the world's eyes.

And yet, and yet, and yet. The thought spun round her circuits until she arrived at the entrance to the flats. She keyed in the entry code, balancing a box on her knee while awkwardly standing on one leg. The staircase was quiet, the orange of the streetlamps falling over the concrete in harsh lines, seeping in over and under the door. 21O hurried up the stairs to keep from her own thoughts. To be connected back into the local infranet again would be a welcome relief, endless distraction until the next morning.

An odd smell met her as she opened the door.

'Cigarettes.' She noted to herself. 'Perhaps just his errant curiosity.'

21O looked over to the bed, 9S was totally still in the shadows of the room, powered down and dead to the world. It scared her sometimes, his willingness to throw himself into that abyss. She kept herself powered up until defragmentation became absolutely necessary, the space between being and absence terrified her.

The infranet _ was _ welcoming, it washed over her as soon as she had set down her things and plugged in through the toaster of a laptop. The connection was rickety at best, network lock disrupting the connection whenever an error popped up on the local logs, but comforting in familiarity. It was a series of clever encryptions that wound round entire apartment complexes worth of neighbours in order to mask the abnormalities that usually revealed high VPN traffic. Device serial codes became impromptu first names for the half-known faces of fellow residents, public IP's serving as the surnames.

21O liked to think she had a sense of humour.

There were new postings on The Hub and more dead-end non-profit runs on Samizdat. 21O checked the liberation freenet in some morbid streak of curiosity. Android liberation had long been a doomed fight, or at least 21O was of the opinion that it was. She survived for herself and 9S, that was a burden enough to bear, let alone all of androidkind.

Amongst all the chaff and static of usual reports there were a couple of images that stood out. An imageboard post. A pair of androids; one with crop-cut neck length hair holding an old AK, the second sat behind her on a plywood crate with blue eyes peeking out of a balaclava, blonde ponytail poking out over her shoulder. The post was largely unrelated, more postulating and theorizing by civilian models about the more secretive splinter cells.

21O frowned and saved the file, the thread would likely die within the hour. It would be worth discussing with 9S once he was active again. 21O sunk back in her chair a little and settled in for another night staring down the river of data that floated through The Hub and Samizdat. The prep for 6O and 2B's job could wait 'till the morning.  
She felt tired, though she shook the feeling as poor maintenance. An hour passed, then another and slowly 21O sunk further and further into fatigue.

'A couple of minutes of downtime.' She thought. 'Just a couple, then I can get back to looking into that milk-run.”

Before she knew it all the connections were cut and the quiet hands of the night shut her eyes.

* * *

Dreams are not something androids consider normal. Freak occurrences, taboo to talk about in polite company. Yet androids dream, whether they want to or not. Perhaps it was a spark of arrogance on humanity's part, perhaps a mere oversight, but dreams are the nature of consciousness. They shape our waking hours, it is from that murky sea of the unconscious the waking mind is born.

21O was not the kind of android who expected to dream, if she did dream then she mentioned it to no-one, rationalising and forgetting, closer to humanity than she would care to admit. No one remembers how they came to be in the dream, but simply finds themselves there.

21O found herself on a pitch black shore; the sand a pure obsidian, brushstroke grey surf breaking against the long slope of the dune. The sand shifted, at once both a tall dune that stretched upward and a flat surface that one could walk along without falling. She looked outward, to the sea. It was an unending churning mass littered with lights; a cosmic oil spill of meteors still burning in the water, shimmering dust from satellites that glinted in every angle of moonlight, a vast unseeing organism.

She turned, walking away from the sea, the dunes giving way to the dull magnolia of an internal systems GUI. It was a recognisable place, her visual functions sector. Each footstep came back reversed, sound sloping into existence backwards before fading away slow and muffled. Space gave way, allowing her to slip through the gap between where she was and where she was going. Beyond each familiar pathway and ticking processor space an abyss unfolded, neither possessing colour or lack of it, emptiness that could not be seen.

21O neared the end of the sector, a single lit pathway leading to the central processing cortex opening before her.

Then, just as one cannot remember how they arrived in a dream, none can remember how they leave it. 21O's eyes opened to the sun pouring through the blinds on the window and the smell of black tea boiling in the kettle.


End file.
